


Wait For It

by textbookMobster



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Relationship, Prosthetics!Pharah, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8980975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbookMobster/pseuds/textbookMobster
Summary: Like visitors, there are people who come into your life only to leave again.But that's okay. Because the important ones always make it back.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [Hana](http://hana-blogs.tumblr.com/), my Secret Santa. I enjoyed your headcanons a lot. You're p cool, yeah? :)

There's a phantom pain where her limb should be, an ache so strong that it makes her curl into a ball, teeth clenched, fingers grabbing empty air. She wakes into the night like this, her bed sheets in a tangle, sweat trickling down her spine. 

"Hey." There's a whisper in the darkness, the sound of a switch clicking—and then light. The contours of a face forms, framed by pale hair, lips quirking in a small smile. Fareeha freezes, her chest aching at the sight of the woman before her. "I had hoped that we would meet under better circumstances," Angela says, sitting at the edge of her bed. "But I am here, like I promised."

With her good arm, she reaches for Angela, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. The warmth of another body pressed against hers brings her back to the present and chases away the sensation of burning flesh. "This isn't a dream?" she asks.

"No. No it isn't."

* * *

The operation takes its toll on Fareeha.

She spends much of it asleep, plagued by fever dreams. Her few waking moments are filled with fear and anxiety, born out of a need to return back to work. It's _maddening_ , being tied down like this. But she has to endure.

Angela catches on quickly to her spiralling mood and visits her with small gifts from former Overwatch members. They mean well, but the reminder of the now-defunct organization does little to comfort Fareeha.

Angela persists.

Christmas is around the corner when her surgery finishes. Angela coaxes her out of the hospital and into the city near their outpost where an unexpected visitor awaits. Reinhardt, out of his armour for once, greets them from in front of a small restaurant, a bulky package tucked under his arm. Fareeha struggles to hold back tears when he crouches for a hug, the wheelchair rattling as Reinhardt practically lifts her from her seat.

"We brought the old crew back together, to build you this," he says, patting the package next to him. It's an arm and a leg, specifically built with Fareeha's measurements in mind. It's got a touch of Angela and Winston in the design, and it's more than Fareeha could ever ask for.

She turns to Angela, uncertain of what to say. "I will help—with the rehabilitation," Angela offers.

"Thank you." She wonders if she could ever express the depth of her gratitude. She settles for: "I will repay you back someday." It's a promise she intends to keep. Even if it takes a lifetime.

* * *

She snaps. She cries. She almost gives up on multiple occasions.

But Angela is with her, every step of the way, her voice soothing, her touch electric. It stirs old feelings inside Fareeha's chest, feelings she refuses to act upon.

Maybe someday, when she feels whole again.

* * *

She's working for Helix Security International when the recall happens.

She doesn't think twice about going rogue. She loves her squad and sees them as family, but Overwatch offers closure. For her mother, who gave her life to the organization, and for Angela, whose kindness has always been a source of comfort.

The first person she finds is Jesse.

"Well, would ya look at that," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. He's delighted to see her, though he tries not to show it. He's got a reputation to maintain after all. "Didn't think you'd come."

She laughs. Of all the Overwatch safehouses, _of course_ he chooses this one. After all, it's one of the few with a fully stocked bar. She doesn't wait for him to initiate—just goes straight for a hug after she's put down her things. "Oof. You gonna let me breathe, kiddo?"

"I have to know that you're real first," she says, pulling away. Her eyes linger on Jesse's arm—metal, like hers—before she meets his gaze. "I guess we match now, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

They make quite the pair, hunting down criminals even while they chase rumours of the newly reformed Overwatch. It reminds Fareeha of the good old days, back when they were still thick as thieves, planning pranks on unsuspecting superiors and practicing by the firing range.

But it's not quite the same.

It's not until they stumble into Winston and Lena that things finally fall into place.

"Do you know where she is?"

"Not the exact whereabouts, no. But I can pass a message?"

* * *

The first time she sees Angela again she feels like she's flying. It's a chance encounter, not in the dark of some hospital room, but out in the open, light snow falling.

It's Christmas in King's Row, and with whispers of discontent among the locals, it's drawn a number of Overwatch agents out of hiding. "Hey," she says, offering a shy smile from across the street.

"Fareeha, you're a sight for sore eyes!"

"And you," she wants to say. But the words don't feel quite right. She's  _happy—_ so full of joy that it takes effort to restrain herself from closing the distance between them and picking Angela up in her arms. She wants to celebrate this moment. She wants to treasure the warmth in Angela's gaze, the fondness in her voice when she adds, "You look well."

"I wouldn't be here without you, Dr. Ziegler."

"It's Angela, _please_." They start walking again, side by side, and for once it feels like they are equals, navigating the same path. (Fareeha hopes that this is not just another intersection, two lives crossing briefly before separating once more. She misses Angela. Hopes the other woman could become a permanent fixture in her life.)

She hums and leans forward, lips dangerously close to Angela's ear. "I don't know. I kind of like calling you doctor."

Angela huffs and tries to hide the red colouring her cheeks. "I prefer to keep my work out of the bedroom, if it's all the same with you."

Fareeha captures Angela's hand with hers and tangles their fingers together, marvelling at the haptic feedback her prosthetic arm provides. "That's good to know—Angela."

She laughs and presses closer, squeezing Fareeha’s hand.

It turns out some things are just worth waiting for.


End file.
